Albion
by Nonsuch
Summary: Magical Isles. High romance. British accents. What more could you possibly desire?


**A/N: this is utterly insane, wrote during essay avoidance. If you like, it can be viewed as a sequel to **_**A Dialogue**_**, though its main reason for existing is to function as a brutal cry of retaliation against the clichéd depictions of my country I have encountered here.**

**Sparkle points for every mistaken 'fact' about Britain you can spot!**

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It was Sarah and Jareth's honeymoon and for the occasion Jareth had decided to take them both to the land of his origin, the magical isle of Albion. It was a wonderful land where jolly chimney sweeps danced on rooftops, and all men aged over fifty were butlers.

"Oh, Jareth." Sarah sighed, and let her head loll against Jareth's shoulder as they were borne through the streets in a black, open topped carriage. Her eyes had a pearly veneer that indicated a state of unreason, and her condition was further indicated by her perpetual smile.

"Yes, my precious shining moon?" Jareth replied, smiling just as happily as Sarah with no aid from narcotics.

"Could you say something? Or sing? Something long, and romantic, and wonderful. Just so I can hear your voice. Your British accent is so sexy, and amazing, and fabulous. It makes me want to die, y'know?"

"Of course, my tuneless nightingale." And so he sang! He sang a wonderful, lovely romantic song that told Sarah how he adored her, how he loved every one of her dainty toes and would carve mountains into the shape of budgerigars if it that was her desire.

When he finished, Sarah clapped her hands in joy. "You're so amazing."

Their carriage ground to a halt outside a palace in Kensington. It was a mile wide, a mile tall and boasted flower boxes that were studded with rubies. The palace sparkled like vampires do when exposed to the sun, and Sarah's heart skipped around in her rib-cage like a happy child. "Oh!" She cried. "I'm so happy, so very happy!" Her voice had a faint edge of hysteria, and Jareth frowned and reached for his bottle of chloroform. Fortunately, it did not take long for the incident to pass and Sarah to begin smiling inanely once more. Jareth withdrew his hand from his pocket, taking hold of his sweetheart's hand as he prepared for them to disembark.

Jareth helped Sarah from the carriage, and they were about to enter the grand structure when Sarah spied a huddled group of urchins a few yards up the street, dressed in tatters and shivering from the cold. "Oh! I must give them some sustenance!" She cried, fishing a bag of boiled sweets from her pocket and hurrying towards them.

As she approached, she saw that one of them was sobbing. Sarah's brow creased, and she ran forward to embrace the child. "There, there." She comforted him extensively, allowing the child to wet the shoulder of her dress. "Whatever is the matter?"

From a short distance, Jareth watched the proceedings with a frown.

"We 'ad to run away. Me mum said us younglings were bothering 'er, and that she was going to chop us up and put us in a stew," the oldest child spoke on behalf of his siblings, scraping his foot sullenly on the sidewalk and looking down to try and hide his tears.

"Oh, Jareth! Look at these poor little children! We must help them, we _must_," she briefly left the children, turning around to appeal to her beloved husband.

Jareth viewed her with curiosity, commenting "But my dear, there are no children."

"But my love, I just spoke-"

Sarah turned her head around, and gasped when she saw that the children had vanished. "Oh. I suppose you were correct. How foolish of me!" Sarah laughed, despite the creases on her brow.

Jareth took her arm and led her back up the path to their glittering dream palace. When her smile returned, Jareth took the opportunity to look behind him. He smiled in satisfaction when he saw five crudely attired rats loitering around a drain, seemingly confused as to their purpose in life. He helped them think more rapidly by using his boundless magical skill to dispatch a tabby cat in their direction.

He insisted on lifting Sarah up into his arms and carrying her across the thresh hold of their home of wonders and dreams, which was not at all difficult because Sarah hardly weighed more than an anorexic butterfly. She stared dreamily into his eyes, not altering the focus of her gaze even when Jareth averted his.

Sarah gasped upon seeing the interior of the magical house, her new home. A sequin covered chandelier radiated glittering rays of light from the ceiling, and every wall was draped with luxurious, red velvet. The half Fae/Elf/Sidhe/British servants had lined up to greet their master and mistress, and were all most charmingly attired in traditional dress. There were servants of all types and varieties, butlers, chamber maids, ladies maids, valets, kicking boys etc, etc. They all greeted Sarah and Jareth in turn, curtseying and bowing as low as their bodies would allow. Sarah could not help but squeal and jump and down every time they spoke on account of their charming, remarkably refined accents.

"Oh! How marvellous! How delightful! How spectacular!" By the time they had reached the end of the line, Sarah was too exhausted to continue exclaiming and simply smiled and nodded.

For dinner, the honeymooning couple were treated to a succession of British delicacies. They started with tea-dipped crumpets, moving onto toad-in-the-hole (which Sarah was surprised to discover contained neither toads nor holes) before finishing off with cream sandwiched scones. Sarah was positively stuffed by the end of it, and slumped against her chair murmuring about how blissfully happy she was to be married.

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Jareth meanwhile, had not taken a bite. He had spent the past hour staring at Sarah's exquisite face. She was so damn hot, smiling vaguely and babbling pointlessly, not even remotely aware that he was watching her. He couldn't wait to take her home and introduce her to his Mom and Dad, Tatty and Obi-Wan. The only danger was that she was so damn hot that she was bound to attract considerable attention at the Grand Shining Court of the Fairy Sun. He could just see his cousins lining up to recite love poetry to her, and his lips tightened into a scowl when he pictured his dastardly brother Malificed attempting to ravish her as she slept. His thoughts were interrupted when Sarah raised her voice.

"My love?"

"Yes, my only?"

"Could we possibly retire? I am so tired after all that being driven about and speaking."

"Why, of course, my flawless emerald!" Jareth replied, his tone suddenly significantly more enthusiastic. He hurried to fetch Sarah from her end of the table, speedily leading her towards the grand, pearlescent staircase that led to the bedchamber of their fantastical dream palace.

He looked at her as they ascended, hardly capable of comprehending her celestial glory. Her skin was as white as porcelain and her hair as black as tar; her plump, moist lips were cherry red and her figure would have driven Botticelli's Venus wild with envy. And of course, he had seen to it that she was dressed in cloth that flattered her wondrous beauty. Her gown was spun from moonbeams and the scales of rainbow fish, and featured a marvellous train that extended far, far behind her. He reached out a hand to touch her neck, stroking its dolphin-like softness. "You're so beautiful," he murmured, close to salivating. He furrowed his perfect marble brow when Sarah showed no indication of having heard him.

Jareth took great delight in showing Sarah into their bedchamber, opening the door with a flourish and crying "Behold!"

And behold it she did, gasping out of pure wonder. The room was draped in red satin and silks, and a cheery fire crackled in the vast, stone hearth. The carpet felt like swans' feathers beneath Sarah's feet as she trod upon it, and she simply adored the hearts that patterned the wallpaper. The centrepiece of the room was a magnificent four-poster bed; it had been fashioned by Dwarf artisans from the trunk of a two thousand year old oak tree that had been chopped down at Jareth's command, and featured innumerable dainty carvings of doves, peacocks and penguins cavorting merrily with one another. The blankets were made from the finest silk so they would not in any way harm Sarah's precious, fragile skin and the canopy overhead had been woven from material of the blackest midnight simply because Jareth liked the colour of the abyss.

"Ooo," Sarah exclaimed, overwhelmed.

Jareth grinned. The years of meticulous planning were finally paying off, and he was only a few moments away from-

"Jareth?"

"Yes, my precious angel?"

"Have we got TV here?"

Jareth paused for a moment, utterly bewildered. Surely the potion had made her forgot all such new-fangled gadgetry? He quickly resolved to drug her again in the morning, for now he would put up with all her silly little sayings and ways. He was too close to care. "No, my wounded china doll. If you so desire, I will command my slaves to bring you a high definition plasma screen from Argos on the morrow."

"What's Argos?" Sarah asked, as Jareth manoeuvred her in the direction of the bed, dearly wishing she would cease her prattle.

"Oh, nothing to concern yourself with, dove. If you must, consider it as a reasonable, British purveyor of household goods."

He kissed her gently on the cheek, freezing when she spoke again. "Oh, like Wall-Mart?"

Jareth gritted his teeth, and moved away from her. He strode mightily into the shining bathroom with gold-fittings that adjoined their bed chamber, removing a small bottle from his pocket. He hadn't wished to resort to chloroform, but had been left with no alternative. He sighed as he tipped some of the deadly poison into a porcelain tea-cup, cringing in annoyance when Sarah shouted to him from the other room. "I said, is it like Wall-Mart?"

"Yes!" He replied. "Yes, my beloved little hyena. It is very much like Wall-Mart." Jareth did not actually have the faintest idea what Wall-Mart was, and decided it didn't really matter for the only person in a five mile vicinity who cared was soon to be rendered insensible. He had to suppress a demonic laugh.

He heard a faint 'good' from the other room, just as he had finished stirring Sarah's drugged tea.

When he entered the room once more, he noticed something alarming. Sarah was sat still, and was not speaking or smiling. Disturbingly, she gave the impression she was thinking.

"Sarah..." she said, speaking slowly, "That's my name, isn't it? And I'm American, and I want to be an actress..."

Jareth dropped the tea-cup, and paid no heed when it cracked in his foot. He said nothing.

"And you're Jareth!" She cried, struck by a sudden epiphany. She stood up, smoke billowing out of her ears in her rage. She looked like a lava-spurting volcano: beautiful and intimidating in equal measure. "Why you little son of a-"

And so it was that Sarah spent the rest of the honeymoon beating Jareth with whatever she had access to, be it sticks, stones or even her bare and surprisingly strong hands. And so it was that they passed their first turbulent days of marriage in the magical isle of Albion, fighting about diverse issues that ranged from conjugal rights to the ethics of drugging and kidnapping your future wife.

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**~The End~**

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**A/N: I'm by no means perfect, and as a means of protecting myself against claims of hypocrisy I readily admit that some of the clichés featured and lovingly torn apart here are ones I can be found guilty of.**

**I hope you enjoyed this, please leave a review in the little box to tell me what you think!**


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